Unfortunate Sex Demon Soul
by makapedia
Summary: Extra drabbles and scenes from Poor Unfortunate Soul.
1. Incubus Babysitter

**this was written as a secret santa gift on tumblr! set before they're an item.**

* * *

"Wow," Maka breathes, palm pressed flat against his, "your hands are _so_ big."

She's just a smidgen too close, toes bumping against his as she wobbles on her feet. For a moment, as she laces her fingers between his and clasps their hands tight, smiling at him in gobsmacked wonder, he regrets letting Maka talk him into attending this damn party with him. College frat parties are not his scene, not even a little bit, but they're even less hers and like hell he was going to let her attend alone, regardless of the fact that her brother is off somewhere doing a kegstand.

Apparently sacrificing his night to babysit her red plastic cup is well on the menu of things he would do for her. But still, he can't get over how weird the whole thing is, seeing Maka in a crop top and shorts, hair loose, surrounded by drunk twenty-somethings as they holler and act generally uncivilized.

He squints at her. "Uh, thanks?"

"You have long fingers," she says, marveling, shifting her weight onto her toes and pinning him in place. "They're so pretty."

"Weirdo. Fingers can't be pretty. They're just bones and skin."

She blinks at him thoughtfully, lips pursing. "That's all I am, too. Soul, am I not pretty?"

This party was a really _really_ bad idea. It's time for Maka to go home and tuck herself into bed, he thinks, instead of looking at him so intensely. Her gaze is burning and he nearly withers beneath her stare, so intent on learning the truth - is she pretty, like that's even a _question_ \- but she's drunk, and while it can't dull her intensity, it can definitely fog up her senses. When he presses his free hand against her forehead and she leans into his palm, face rosy, he knows she's had just a few too many.

:"I think it's time to leave," he says instead.

She puffs out her cheeks like a cute little chipmunk and wriggles. "Nooo, I want to dance! The night is still young!"

"Maka, you can't dance."

"Not with that attitude I can't!"

"Let me reiterate: Maka, you _shouldn't_ dance. It's past your bedtime."

Maka pouts, spinning in his grasp just long enough to grab ahold of red plastic. The drink sloshes around as she struggles to press the lip of the cup against her lips. She slurps, not a lick daintily, and mumbles, "You're such a _mom_ ," into her drink.

From down the hall, someone screams, "CHUG!" followed shortly by, "TAKE IT OFF!" and Maka lifts her head long enough to stare determinedly at him. If the glint in her eye is any evidence, she's ready to step up to the challenge, Maka "Stubborn As A Mule" Albarn style.

Oh hell no. If it's about to get Girls Gone Wild up in here, he's not going to let Maka be a part of it; not while she's got alcohol in her system, not while there are so many greasy frat boys lurking around and eyeballing the way her ass looks in those high waisted shorts. Which is fantastic, by the way, but that doesn't give them free reign to ogle her anymore than it gives him the right. Forcing a cleansing breath, Soul summons whatever strength he might have lurking in his hot demon bod and drags her toward the exit.

"Waaait-! _Drink!_ " Maka gasps helplessly, cup teetering in her hand, cheap booze spilling over her pale thigh. "Soul!"

"Sorry," he sighs, snagging her jacket off the coat rack. "Arms?"

Maka holds her arms up and, much alike a parent dressing a petulant toddler, Soul pulls the sleeves over her wrists, up her arms and onto her shoulders. Her arms drop to her sides as he zips her up.

"Why didn't you drink too?"

He snorts, tugging his sleeve down and wiping her leg clean. "Not my scene," he answers, which isn't a lie - but it also isn't the whole truth, and the admittance that he can't get drunk by human means of alcohol would probably kill her vibe. Besides, he's never been one for drinking at parties anyway; control is something he quite values, and if she's going to be buzzed, he feels much more comfortable being sober enough to walk her to the bathroom and scare dickbags away with a well aimed snarl.

She looks at him through her bangs, big green eyes watery. "You didn't have fun."

"I had the time of my life watching you try to dance on that table, thank you very much," he admits, cracking a grin. Her drunk flush hues deeper, pinks and reds glowing beneath her faint freckles. "Getting you down, though, was another story."

"I'mma _good dancer,_ " she defends.

He holds up a combat boot. "Sure. Foot?"

Maka hobbles on one foot while he wrestles the other into her boot, strapping it in place and tapping her knee; she switches, hopping and wriggling to gather her balance while he attempts to squish her foot into the boot without unbuckling it, just to save time. "I wanted _you_ to have fun too," she says blearily, sounding oddly defeated as Soul sets her foot down and peers up at her. "You never do anything fun!"

"I beat Pokemon Red twice already," he says defensively.

"No! You always stay home and take care of me." She fidgets, tugging the hem of her shirt out. From his angle, he gets a open view of her stomach, firm abs and the color (plain, sensible white) of her bra. "It's not fair to you! What do you like to do for fun, Soul? Next time we can do something you want to do."

He stares anywhere but her belly button and stands up, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I have a good time licking the brownie batter off the bottom of the bowl, Maka."

She sighs miserably. "I'm a bad friend."

Wrong; she's the farthest thing, but he can't even begin to go into all the reasons why she's the greatest thing since sliced bread in his books, so he shakes his head instead, holds out a hand to her and lets her lace their fingers again. Her skin is warm, flushed a healthy, hearty pink, and her hands are small but strong as she squeezes his palm to hers.

If only she knew all the ways she's fantastic. He clears his throat, trying hard not to dwell on the way his stomach flutters as she rubs her thumb over his. Her companionship alone is more than enough to write home about - but letting him stay in her house, putting up with him and calling him a _friend_ makes her a star pupil. She's done so much for him, between letting him hold her hand and offering him smiles that keep him warm and giddy; making sure she has a safe time is the least he can do to repay her.

He swings their hands playfully. She squints at him. "Nah, just a lightweight."

"I am not!"

"You're like ninety pounds. I think the smell of booze did you in."

Nose curled, she shoves her cup of brobeer into his chest. "Think again! I matched Black Star, thank you very much!"

"A mistake," he says, deadpan.

"At least I didn't barf," she sing-songs, giggling, finally, and wobbling over to lean her head on his shoulder.

Her body heat is more intoxicating than the beer drenching his shirt. He tries hard not to think on it and opens the front door instead, ushering her out into the brisk night air and scurrying down the front steps to help steady her before she stumbles down the front steps like a toddler. She holds out her other hand and he grasps her arms, heaving and lifting her over the threshold, just to place her safely on her feet at the bottom of the stairs.

Maka giggles more while he attempts to play it off like he hadn't just broken a sweat lifting her because _fuck,_ uncool.

"You're so tall but you're so weak," she cooes. "Do you even lift?"

"I lift the weight of the headaches you give me, nerd," he chuffs. Maka presses her face into the sleeve of his jacket and he exhales slowly, watching his breath puff out a foggy white. It's so much easier to breathe now that they're outside, away from the dubstep and cigarettes and smell of sex. Being just a little too aware of all the messing around going on around him is another unfortunate perk of being an incubus, and college parties are a jackpot.

On the bright side, he feeds off of sexual energy and the likes. If there's a fresh spring in his step, he chooses to ignore it in favor of making sure Maka doesn't slosh through a muddy puddle. Might as well use all this excess energy to keep the lady clean and muck-free.

Walking her home is an adventure. Drunk Maka is a lot like a puppy, excitedly shouting at every little thing and attempting very valiantly to gallop down the road and say hi to a couple of scurrying chipmunks. Which, while laughable any other time, is worrisome because it's dark and 11 PM is prime drunk driving hour.

It's when he's fishing her keys out of her jacket pocket and unlocking the front door that she asks again. "Am I not pretty?"

He can't get the door open fast enough. "Uh?"

"Soul," she muffles against his sleeve, pressing her cheek to his arm. "You never answered my question."

"I, uh - didn't think I needed to?" he admits, stumbling with her through the front door.

Her boots track mud through the threshold and onto her otherwise clean carpet, staining pale blue with dirt and grime, Looks like he'll be busy scrubbing the floors after tucking her into bed instead of unwinding with beginning another journey through Kanto, damn.

Insecurity isn't a look he's accustomed to her wearing. Maka thus far has been bold and tenacious, pushing his feet off of the coffee table and pushing back his hair as she checks his temperature. Up until now, he's been so distracted by her (admittedly drool worthy) abs and the strength in his gaze that he hasn't ever really noticed a moment where Maka might be unsure. Their friendship has always been so easy because she's so gung ho, leading the way through crowded grocery stores with a hop in her step and pigtails bouncing accordingly.

But tonight she looks very young and very nervous, peeking up at him through her dusty bangs. He forces out a breath and wills himself to not fuck this up.

"... You're not _unpretty_ ," he admits awkwardly.

Her lip wobbles and Soul's breath catches in his throat.

 _Please don't cry, please don't cry._ There are a lot of things in this world that he's terrible at dealing with and crying girls are very high up on that list, right under doing the sex and maintaining eye contact while holding a conversation.

"I mean!" he amends quickly, squirming in her grasp. "... Why do you ask?"

The way she blinks and stares down at her feet is both adorable and concerning, because it's such a stark contrast to the brother-wrestling, incubus-saving Maka he's come to know and adore. But he's not deterred, and the funny feeling in his stomach that flourishes whenever she's around doesn't lessen any the longer he watches her worry. If anything, it only makes it worse - it _humanizes_ her, makes her more than just this idol-worthy figure in his life that yanks him out of bed and warms his heart. She's a girl with feelings, multi-faceted, and when he leans down to level his gaze with her she bites her lip.

Her breath reeks of college-grade beer. It doesn't lessen her appeal. Fuckitall.

"You've got pretty eyes," he tells her quietly, hushed, maybe even a little shyly. "And a big heart. That's the most attractive thing about you."

Those eyes fill up with bashful glee and he has to stop himself from gathering her face in his hands and squeezing her cute cheeks. He loves her baby face, pudgy, pale cheeks and big, big eyes.

"You mean it?" she breathes in wonder.

He flicks her forehead fondly. "Only if you get your butt to bed before the clock strikes twelve, Cinderella."

Maka breathes out through her nose moodily. "Can I have a hug?" she asks, sounding way too much like her brother while he tries to pick up girls. Fuckboy isn't her best look.

"No," he says, very seriously. There's a long pause, and then, "You'll get pregnant."

He's still chuckling about the way she gasped and cupped her hands over her mouth half an hour later, while on his hands and knees, scrubbing the mud out of her carpet.


	2. Bedcrawler

prompted on tumblr: "this asshole has a problem with incubi and they made fun of your horns in public, now I'm going to Fight Them for you."

* * *

Maka bristles like a cat when she's angry.

Ordinarily, this is very cute, what with her soft cheeks and tiny button nose bunching up and pink burying her freckles, but Soul finds that the whole frustrated kitten act is a lot more endearing when it's not in public. Rather, it's less of a headache when it's in private, and she's waving his boxers around and ranting at him about cleanliness and hygiene behind closed walls; at least that way she's not likely to pick a fight with a century old bloodsucker, armed with nothing more than her tiny hands and the spitfire green of her eyes.

Her temper is dangerous and exhausting. No matter how cute she looks when she's about to throw a punch.

Almost parentally, he reaches out and gives her pigtail a tug, not unlike grasping for a leash. She fumbles, hands waving in front of her as she stumbles back, sputtering, "Hey!"

"Don't," he pleads quietly. " _Please_."

"He just-!" She spins to face him, doe eyes tainted by waves of quivering, white-hot anger. It's a wonder she exists, such an impressive mix of cute and ferocious, light blonde lashes and crinkled eyebrows, pink doll lips and a sharp, quick-witted tongue. "You heard him! I can't believe you're going to let him talk to you like that! It's rude!"

Aforementioned bloodsucker raises his brows behind her. Soul doesn't even have the energy to glare at the guy; Maka quickly does it for him, though, tossing dirty looks over her shoulder and slapping Soul's hand from her hair, as if she's offended that he's throwing in the towel so early.

She doesn't get it. He's been living with the prickles of horns protruding from his mess of hair since he came of age, it's nothing he's never heard before - and the bitter, uncomfortable rivalry between vampires and incubi has been going on for ages. She might be half demon, sure, but she looks and passes for human without a hitch and has probably ( _definitely_ ) never dealt with the awkward prejudices that come with wielding a tail and/or set of antlers in public. Especially not in a musty old bookstore. Clearly, Soul's intruding on fang territory here, but it's not his fault his roommate slash girlfriend is a bibliophile.

Almost instinctively, he tugs his hood up. "It's not a big deal," he mutters to her. "I should've worn my hat."

" _What,_ " she hisses, pigtails whipping as she turns to stare passionately at him again. She could move mountains with those eyes, so big and emotive. Soul quakes before them, distracted momentarily, as she bunches up her fists in front of her and clenches her jaw. "No, that's not- you don't have to hide anything, this is just as much your ground to walk as it is his! He has no right to sling derogatory terms at you-"

He exhales through his nose. " _Bedcrawler_ isn't exactly inaccurate."

"That doesn't mean he gets to call you that!" She shrieks, spinning back around, ready to brawl. Soul wisely plucks a nearby novel out of her reach and drops it onto the shelf nearby him, about a foot out of her reach. " _Hey!_ "

"It's nothing your brother hasn't called me," he informs, because it's not a lie; Black*Star's called him much worse things while simultaneously inspiring the fear of god into his heart and he hasn't dropped dead yet. He can handle a few choice words from a bitter old man with a thirst for blood.

"But he's- _YOU'RE,_ " she starts, jabbing a finger in this perfect stranger's face. Soul's headache worsens tenfold as the vampire bares his fangs, hiss almost sizzling from between his clenched teeth in anticipation. Maka continues, completely undeterred, like the fearless little thing she is, too reckless and compassionate for her own good. She's five foot three and dressed in a cherry-printed sundress and his leather jacket, swamped by oversized shoulders and fingers barely poking out of the hems of the sleeves and still manages to sound and look intimidating. "You aren't even that different! He feeds off of humans just like you do!"

He eyes Maka's waggling finger like it's a chicken wing. "I resent that," he says primly. "I get nutrition without removing my pants, thank you very much."

"Because ripping into someone like they're a Kool-Aid pouch is so much better!" Maka shouts shrilly. Vampire man recoils and Soul bites back his grin because _Maka picking fights is not a good idea_ but dammit, the look on his face is priceless.

While he enjoys the sentiment - and, selfishly, enjoys watching Maka tear into someone with that big brain of hers instead of her fists - she's causing a scene. She'll be disappointed if they're asked to leave the bookstore before she even has a chance to gasp dreamily over the historic-fiction section and sift through the bargain bin. Her shoulders are still trembling with barely-restrained follow up when he claps a hand down and gives her a gentle tug back.

"I think I saw a trashy romance novel with your name on it over by the window," he says innocently.

She flinches and blushes. "I don't-"

"I know you were eyeing it when we walked by last week, don't deny your perverted ways, Albarn. It's in your blood."

Vampire guy slips out unnoticed, thankfully, as Maka scurries away from him, muttering passionately about how _she's nothing like her Papa, how dare he_ , the pink ribbons in her hair bobbing faithfully as she not-so-subtly beelines for the romance section. Soul secures his hood and follows after faithfully, chuckling as she pulls out a book to read the back cover, blushing tenderly. It practically glows off of her like a midnight snack and he cranes his head down to kiss a rosy cheek, unable to stop himself, and she only burns brighter, squeaking and bringing up the book to hide her red face.

 _Cute,_ he thinks. Just like a kitten. A hot-headed, stubborn kitten, who pouts and shoves the book at him, huffing in denial.

He turns the book over and reads the cover. _Always and Forever,_ written in gold-printed cursive, featuring a picture of bosomy blonde, barely clad in white lingerie as her assumed lover - a tall, muscular man with luscious hair and dark brown eyes - cradles her in his beefy arms.

"This your type?" he asks, snorting.

Maka's nose bunches up adorably. "Don't be jealous of his rippling abdominals."

"Wow, you caught me. I wish I was that shredded."

"And I wish I had her cup size," she says back, bantering easily, as Soul slips the book back onto the shelf. "But we can't always get what we want."

He watches her stand on her toes to reach another book on the next shelf, lower lip bitten as she strains, skirt raising higher on her pale thighs. She's not particularly bosomy, and he's no stud, but she still tugs on his hoodie to ask for his help and he obliges, so he thinks they're a pretty good match, however odd they might be.

Maka shoves his hood down when he hands her the book and beams at his wordless question. A giggle escapes her at his expression - confusion, probably - but she keeps smiling at him like sunshine. Smug, smug sunshine.

"I like them," she admits, still gloriously pink. "I don't know why anyone wouldn't. They're cute."

His girlfriend squeezes his hand and it's everything he wants.


	3. Sweet

written for soma nsfw week! the theme for today is sweet. hope you like this little walk back down incubus lane!

* * *

It's not like he tries to be a little creep. Sometimes it just happens and he's helpless to wade in the pool of information he probably shouldn't be immediately privy to.

But he is nosy, accidentally, and incubus instincts are greater than a dog's sense of smell. He wonders if she even realizes she's broadcasting it - her desire is often palpable, the sweetest siren song, practically glowing off of her like a bashful blush. Only it's not as adorable and sweet as Maka blushing into her hands after he plays her a particularly love-lost playlist - it's a lot more sexy in a private indulgence sort of way, if only because he knows it's a secret, just for him, that he's the only one who has this sort of effect on her.

It makes him feel a little guilty. It's not her choice to smell like sex and heaven and all of those other sappy, lovey-dovey words he tends to associate with her these days when she's in the mood. He's not even sure she's aware it happens. And it happens so sporadically - while she's in the bath, leg popping out of the ocean of bubbles while he gussies up in the mirror, tail swaying idly - that he's pretty damn sure it's not on purpose.

Not, of course, that he can control when he gets the urge, either. Sexual attraction is still a relatively new thing for him. Even if it seems to be reserved for her and just her it still catches him off guard sometimes, and right now is no exception. He peeks at her in the reflection of their bathroom mirror, watches her pink toes wiggle, wonders what it would be like to take one into his mouth, maybe - and then everything unravels from there.

Maka _sighs_ and leans her head back against the tub. "You should join me. This bath bomb is so nice."

"Should be," he grunts. "It's _mine._ "

She smiles and he catches her blushing face in the reflection. _Hm._ Interesting. Very interesting.

"The water's warm," she says, her voice a honeyed temptation. "I can make room for you in here. Wash your cute little tail."

He snorts and turns to watch her fully. Maka wiggles a foot at him, looking pale and pink and delicious amidst the bubbles and tinted water. He knows what she wants. He can smell it on her, can feel her lust in waves washing over him. What a pretty girlfriend he has. What green eyes she has.

"My tail is cool," he grunts.

"Mm," Maka hums, smiling, _smiling._

"Maybe I wanna finish shaving."

She giggles and he feels it flutter in his chest. Soul braces himself on the porcelain bowl of the sink. "You're smooth like a dolphin, Soul. A hairless mammal."

" _Hey._ "

"Soft legs. Soft soft legs," she cooes, spreading her toes. Soul watches her sink back into the water, watches her ankles submerge back in the glittery pink water. _Her_ skin is probably softer than anything else. He kind of wants to drag his tongue up her calves, map out the muscles of her thighs, taste that delightful secret between her legs.

Inspired, he finds himself dropping to sit by the rub and dip his fingers into the water. Ah, warm. She hadn't been lying. Maka stirs in her bath, shoulders squirming, tits peeking through like tiny islands. Slanting eyes don't belong to good boys; Soul clears his throat and looks at her blushing cheeks, instead, and her mischevious little smile.

"Hey," she says.

"Hey, you."

"I'd really like it if you'd join me."

So straightforward. Soul leans forward on his knees and grins a little at her, taking a moment to cradle the back of her neck and pull her forward to press a kiss on her forehead. "Someone's thirsty," he teases, and she pouts. "What's the occasion, bookworm?"

Her skin is damp, and her fingers leave wet little prints all over the neck of his shirt. "You have a cute butt."

Well, now they're both blushing. She can't just hand out compliments like that and not expect to fluster him - ahhh, there's that grin, bright and playful; she's doing it on purpose, the little nerd. "Do _not,_ " he mutters, face bright, and Maka only grins further, pink glitter swirling around her like the sweetest halo. It reminds him a little of sugar. "It's a perfectly normal butt."

"Bubble butt," she cooes, and he sputters, splashing her. She squeals and rubs her eyes, lashes damp and ashy. "Hey, it's the truth! It's really cute, Soul."

"You're the worst."

Her giggling doesn't stop, even for a moment. She catches his wrist in her wet little grasp and smiles placatingly, slipping her fingers between his. So pruney, he catches himself thinking, watching each digit dig into the back of his hand. So _possessive,_ he finds himself thinking after. But he is hers, after all. He's hers and she's his, and if that doesn't do a bang-up job of getting him sufficiently bothered, well, the lust that's rolling off of her in waves finishes the job.

"Bath time?" she asks again. "I can make room."

Soul tugs her to her feet again. Wet, naked Maka is still a treat, despite the year they've been together. He doubts he'll ever be over the rawness of her beauty, the way her damp hair drips over her shoulders, the way her skin looks, glistening under her shitty fluorescent lights. Pretty, pretty girl, with pretty lips and perky breasts and long legs that he wants to lay between. Can't do that in the bathtub, though; there's not enough room for his lanky limbs and gangly arms. A relocation is in order.

If he can stop gawking at her. Her feet slosh around in the bubbles as she gathers her balance, slick with fragrance and soap. The urge to lick her from head to toe is overwhelming but not surprising. Sometimes he wonders why he's anything more than a mouth at all - most days he's quite content to just explore and feel with teeth and tongue. _Pussy Eater Evans_ for sure.

He snorts at that. Maka's brows quirk. "What?"

"Oh," he says, blinking, reality focusing around him. "Not you. I'm not- fuck. Not laughing at you."

She shifts her weight, sets a hand on her hip. He follows the motion with hawk-like attention. Her eyes are not down there, but damn if it isn't a nice sight. Maka smothers her own little laugh and Soul snaps back to attention.

" _Whoa-!"_

With great strength (read: great determination and a boner the density of steel powering him) he hefts her off of her feet and over his shoulder. Bare assed, she gasps, damp hair slapping him in the back as he kicks down the bathroom door. It's all very prehistoric, he thinks, and very cave-man like of him, quite literally hauling her to the bedroom for some loving. But she's not angry, and she's not pounding on his back and demanding to be let go, and not once do her knobby knees come anywhere close to bonking any of his internal organs, so he thinks it's probably alright.

Plus she's naked. He's got a good hold on a bare, wet thigh and it's a pretty sweet deal. No complaints from him.

By the time he's dumped her on her bed, he's more than a little winded and considering maybe taking her up on her offers of gym trips, but the deed's been done and Maka has been transported from point A to B. And she seems happy about it, long legs akimbo, pale and pink and delicious looking on her floral sheets.

"I love it when you take charge," she says, biting her lip. He would reply, but before he has the chance, she's got her fingers hooked in the waistband of his boxers and he's clambering onto the mattress, knees straddling her hips.

Maka smells like heaven. He's not even mad that she swiped his bath bomb and used it for herself; her skin is silk beneath his greedy hands, soft and sweet-scented and supple, so supple. They both benefit from her theft. He presses a grin into the bend of her knee and she sighs impatiently.

She's always so eager to get to the finish line. Not because she's unhappy with the sex, because he knows she enjoys it; he's played her like a finely-tuned grand more times than he can count, has seen her back arch and toes curl in the sheets as he tends to her whims. No, she's a little bookworm, an impatient one at that, and wants to feel euphoria or bliss or any other cheesy euphemism for an orgasmic finish as quickly as possible. Which is fine, he supposes. That's the goal they're both racing towards anyway; everyone involved wants Maka to see stars.

Soul likes to take his time, though. He likes to make himself comfortable, likes to feel and touch and lick everything. Foreplay is his favorite part. There's something special about feeling Maka lean into his touch and listening to her whimper his name as he runs his tongue along her trembling inner thigh. It's magic. It's world-changing. It's barely even a snack for him and it's still more rewarding than the entire meal; maybe, he thinks, because sex with Maka has never really been about fueling him with energy. No, it's been about making her feel good and special, making her understand what she does to him - making her understand all the goopy, sappy things he feels when she smiles at him and tucks his hair behind his ear. Because it's a love thing. A really big love thing.

And he thinks she's especially lovely when she's pulling his hair and keening beneath his hungry tongue.

"Good things come to girls who wait," he teases. Maka whines and finds his hair and ah, well, a little pain never hurt anyone. It grounds him. Inspires him, in fact, to suck a particularly dark hickey on her soft thigh, and Maka sings his name to the ceiling.

Music to his ears. He kisses the mark left behind and can't stop himself from grinning. "Better?"

She breathes out through her nose and digs her heels into the mattress. "No," she says petulantly, like a toddler, and Soul's hands fit themselves to her hips out of instinct. " _Souuuuul."_

And she's ready. He's known for a while there was a secret little something- _something_ brewing between her thighs, had felt it wafting off of her like perfume minutes before but it still gets him going. Her legs part like the gates of heaven and Soul feels his chest inflate. There are angels singing somewhere in the back of his head, holy choirs, but all he can think of is how delectably pink she is and how he'd like to taste her and reacquaint himself with nirvana.

She tastes like sex. There's not really a pretty, flowery way to put it. Salt, _sex,_ sweat - though her thighs are soft on his cheeks and locked around his ears, warm, delicious pressure that keeps him focused at the task at hand. And how she moves beneath his ministrations; one flat lick reduces her to a mewling mess. She's boneless, and he finds himself moaning into her heat, unable to keep himself quiet as he circles her clit with a smart tongue and grips her legs.

There's a tangible energy there, buzzing beneath his tongue, warming him all the way to his ears. It's hard to say who is louder between the two of them, but he likes to think she has him beat, if only for his thirsty ego. _He's_ certainly not quiet; self-proclaimed cool guy can't seem to keep his groans of encouragement to himself, but his tongue is occupied and it's impossible not to react to the way she writhes beneath him, heels digging into his shoulders.

He'd really like to introduce his fingers into the mix, but she's got him tied up with her legs like a vice and his hands are busy holding her steady. Ah, well, he'll just have to make do; his tongue is longer than any human comparison, anyway, and when he ventures further, tasting and stroking and feeling, Maka croons and pulls his hair, palms clammy and wrists dripping.

And she's wet. So, so wet, and not just because of her bath. There's a purr caught in his throat, and Maka just about sobs when he sucks on that tough little nub - it's so _sensitive,_ he finds himself thinking with perverse glee, and Maka is nothing if not respondent.

"Please, please, please _please,_ oh _god,_ " she whispers, head tipped back, her neck a faraway, pale beacon. "I'm- Soul, just a _little- I need it._ "

He is but her faithful, adoring sex toy. A little tongue fluttering is all it takes for her to break, and the force of her orgasm has her shaking, entire being trembling, thighs and all. Breathing becomes a challenge, if only because of the forceful way she's got his face shoved against her, but he works her through it, fingers digging into the flesh of her thigh.

"Release," he says, tapping her leg. She loosens the reigns, just long enough for him to pop up and watch her blink, pretty lips parted, before she's tugging him up to her face by the hair. "Fuck- _whuh, mmh?_ "

Maka has no qualms about kissing him after he's gone down on her, and he doesn't have a damn problem with it either. She kisses him so messily after a particularly ground-breaking finish, tongue slick between his lips, palms firm along his jaw.

Soul finds himself smiling into her kiss. "Better?"

"Mmmm," Maka hums, then takes his lower lip between her teeth and tugs. His heart leaps, and so does _something_ beneath the waistband of his shorts, just as excited and twice as strained. It doesn't help that she's drenched, and her center is hot, pressed up against him, separated only by a thin layer of cotton boxers. "Almost."

He leans back and presses his finger to her lips. "Almost?"

She blinks innocently. Far too innocently, he thinks, for a girl that mock-bites at his finger, just to catch him off guard and roll him over. Soul's shoved onto his back unceremoniously, and Maka maintains eye contact as she grinds herself down on his clothed erection, damp hair dripping. The water is cool, and it's a direct juxtaposition to the heat between her legs, the smoldering desire that threatens to swallow him whole.

It is still _her_ game. He cannot forget. He's her loverboy but she still calls the shots, and he wouldn't want it any other way. What Maka wants, Maka gets; she's already given him _so much._ It's the least he can do.

He wants to give her things. Wants to give her a _lot_ of things.

"What kind of girlfriend would I be to leave you behind?" she asks, sliding her fingers down his chest in a direct path to his privates. Ah, _ah,_ so close, and yet - and yet she's still so very far away, and moving farther, even, as she nudges her way off of his lap.

He wheezes. "Hhhhah, um, _Makaaa-_ " Christ, okay, higher brain function is not available right now. Pull it _together,_ Soul. Try to focus less on her hot little hands. Do not pant. _Goddamit._ "Fine, you'd be _fine-_ not your job to get me off…"

"But I _like_ to."

Yes, that is his penis in her grasp. Yes, those are her fingers, ohhhh, okay. Soul shuts his eyes and lets his face go lax, lets himself bask in Maka's capable hands and the way they work him, the way they grope and grasp and caress. She traces the contours of his dick through the fabric and he very nearly gasps. Tease, she's _teasing_ him, and he grasps for her legs in the dark.

"Okay?" she asks.

"Yes. _Okay._ " So much better than okay.

Maka wiggles his boxers down over his hips. Soul keeps his eyes shut, still a little too embarrassed to watch the way his cock springs free like the next eager contestant. But it is. And he is, too, ready for her attention, ready for anything she's willing to offer. She cups him in her grasp, tender, gentle, and feels her way around, palming at his anatomy and sighing contentedly at, he's left to assume, the way he squirms beneath her.

Her hair drips on his hip. It _should_ sizzle when it hits his skin because he's burning up. His eyelids flutter, and he peeks at her through his lashes as she leans over and licks her way up his shaft.

Melting, he cusses, hands reaching for her, and her hair is damp between his fingers as she gives him a look so smoke-eyed sex it reminds him of just who she is. Part incubus princess, part nerdy school girl, all _Maka,_ and her mouth is a delight. He absolutely does not lead her down; she does so on her own free will, and his hands do nothing more than follow her every motion, combing his way through her tangled hair, ashy blonde heavy between his fingers. The world is thawed, a bright, fluorescent mush, and Maka is the only tangible thing. And Maka's mouth. And her tongue, god, _god._

His tongue is tangled. Useless. Maka bows again and he wills his hips to stay _down,_ dammit. _Do not buck up into her face,_ no matter how she sighs, as if his dick in her mouth is actually pleasant for her. She peeks at him through her lashes and he's caught in her web, helpless to her wiles, watching her yield like the tide, hips shifting behind her.

Soul brushes her damp bangs from her eyes and drowns in evergreen. "Maka, ahh," he says thickly. " _Maka._ "

She can't respond. Her tongue is a little busy at the moment, but she still hums anyway, and that's it, that's the ball game. It hits him all at once - the reality of it all, the way her tongue catches just beneath the head of his dick, the smoldering look in her eyes, the _vibration_ \- and then he's curling up, her face clutched in his hand as he comes, and comes, and comes, good lord. His tail flops down with a quiet whump as the world melds back into ordinary structure, piece by wobbly piece.

Maka smiles. Leans back, out of his grasp, pressing her fingers to her lips. There's still flecks of sparkles left in her wake, smeared along the tip of his shaft, staining her pruney finger tips. And then she swallows.

Soul falls back onto the bed dramatically and throws his forearm over his face, breathing as if he'd run a mile. " _Christ._ "

" _Strawberry,_ " Maka says thoughtfully. Soul peeks at her from beneath his arm to catch her licking her lips. " _Different,_ but good. A little tangier than I'm used to. But still sweet! Kind of reminds me of a sundae?"

He chuffs and tugs her pillow over his face. Plastic sex toys have nothing on him; ribbed for her pleasure, pfft. His penis is a fucking flavor fountain and Maka has no qualms with taking him for a taste test. " _Weirdo."_

Soul feels her curl up next to him, foot hooking around his calf. "Love you," she mumbles, lips pressed to his shoulder.

It goes without saying that the feeling mutual. Still, he can't pout for long while she's so distractingly pliant, and lets her peel the pillow from his face to plant a kiss on his cheek. And if he smiles like a lovesick fool, well, he hides it well as he rolls over and holds her to his chest. She's tiny but not fragile, and laces her arms around him just as much. In her grasp, he's not going anywhere.

Not that he'd want to. A nap sounds pretty good right about now.

"Thirsty," he mutters sleepily. "You're so _thirsty,_ Maka."

She pinches his stomach and he yelps. _Served._


	4. Please

again for nsfw week! this time for day 3 - please.

* * *

It's her blushing, weirdly enough, that sets him off.

Not that her lingerie isn't _flattering,_ because it is; there's something special about Maka in black lace and frilly panties, thin black stockings decorating the ever-impressive length of her legs. She's possibly the prettiest thing he's ever seen, slim and darling, and it's the first time he's seen her in anything but her simple cotton bras and sensible, four-pack undies. She cleans up well, with her hair tied up, the delicate curve of her neck a siren, but it's her pink cheeks that really endears him to her more than anything else.

She's so cute. She's cute in _everything,_ be it a pair of jeans and a sweater, a pleated skirt, one of his band t's - and lingerie, apparently, with a bow tied in her hair and the softest, most kissable looking cheeks he's ever seen.

Resisting temptation is futile. He submits, holding his palms out and beckoning her, and Maka shuffles her way over, wedging herself into the space between his knees. Her fingers slide between his and she sighs, just slightly, the weight of her nerves heavy on her breath. He wants to kiss that nervous knit in her brows away.

But because he's Soul, and he's kind of tongue-tied when it comes to putting his feelings into words, he squeezes her hands instead and bumps his knees against her bare thighs. "What's the occasion?"

Maka bites her lip. "... Nothing?"

Sensible _Maka_ would never go out of her way to buy expensive underthings just for _nothing._ He doesn't buy it for a second.

She melts under his stare, growing rosier by the moment, as she admits, "... I wanted to feel pretty."

"You're always- you're _pretty,_ " he says, squeezing her hands. "Don't need black lace to prove that, Maka."

Yielding beneath his wandering eyes, she squirms, thighs pressing together. "So you don't like it?" Maka asks, and Soul wonders how she manages to get these ideas in her head; he hadn't thought staring at her tits could be misread as _disinterest,_ fuck. There are a handful of things he wants to do to her (or _with_ her, really) in this slinky little number - and most (if not all) of them include worshiping the body she walks in and the soul she bears.

He drops her hands to cup the back of her thighs. Her skin is warm and soft, and the swell of her ass sits atop his hands comfortably. She stands taller, somehow, face pink and delicious, and the nervous affection wafting off of her fills his lungs like helium.

"You're alright, I guess," he says, teasingly. Maka bites her lip again and he thaws beneath her evergreen. God, her eyes are something else; she could move mountains with her stare, could make men fall to their feet, could (and will) reduce him to nothing more than twitterpated _mush_.

She pouts, and then, " _Soul."_

"Babe," he cooes, tail swiping at her ankles. She squirms, giggling, and he makes a mental note of her tickle spots. " _Baby._ Sweetheart. Love of my life. Apple of my eye."

"Ugh," Maka says, pushing half-heartedly at his shoulders. But she can't escape, and he tugs her closer, until she's seated on his lap, thighs firm around his bare waist. "Soul, don't be an ass."

 _Her_ ass is warm in his hands. Frilly panties are a unique texture, and he would be a little more upset that there isn't more bare, heated skin in his grasp but with Maka so close, she's in prime position for face kissing. And face kissing he shall partake in, smooching her all over her blushing cheeks, soaking in her bashful desire like a cat basking in the early-afternoon sunshine, until she's giggling against him and worming delightfully in his lap. Friction is friction, after all, and screw him for being hard in the face of her smile and rosy cheeks.

She rolls her hips. Yes. _Screw him,_ actually. _Please_ screw him.

"I don't look like a little girl playing dress up?"

Soul blinks and tries to regain use of his tongue. It's hard to focus on conversation while she's grinding in his lap, rubbing so gradually against the heat in his pants and numbing his brain to nothing more than a drooling mantra of "Sex! With Maka!"

But he perseveres, still, because there's a self conscious hint in her tone and he can't just hump his way through her insecurities in good conscious. It's not who he is, and if Maka is unsure, or if Maka is nervous, well, it takes all potential fun and good-feelings out of it. He kisses her nose, and then her jaw, his tongue heavy as he blurts, "Not even a little bit."

She exhales and he feels her breath on his neck. Right, well, as if there was any question of him being aroused before, it is now officially answered. He might as well be made of steel.

Her fingers slip down his chest and pop open the button of his jeans. Christ. In record time, she's made quick work of his zipper, and he wiggles and squirms as she helps him shimmy his pants down his hips, just enough to give her room to work his erection. He's sensitive to her touch, as he always is, but Maka seems to palm him with a little extra care today, and before long he's a panting mess, forehead pressed to her shoulder while she works him. And _works_ him.

"Fuuuuck," he moans. " _Fuck_ me."

She bites his ear, then asks, just sweetly enough for him to read her intentions, "What's the magic word?"

As if his cock in her hands wasn't mind-numbing enough. Her thumb brushes just along the head of him and her very nearly _whines,_ it's so good. It's almost like he doesn't even have bones anymore and he's just melted into a horny, sweltering puddle of boy, pliable putty in Maka's capable hands.

His silence is not the answer she's looking for. Maka pumps him slowly, just enough to reduce him to one long, thick groan. "Soul?"

"Please," he says weightily. " _Please."_

They're both blushing as they flip over. He more than her, though, as he kicks off his pants and boxers and is left bare before her, exposed, but Maka gives him such an appreciative, heated look that he can't find it in him to be embarrassed. She sits up on her elbows, ankles linked daintily, watching as he crawls his way over to her. Only when he starts to get close does she set a foot on his shoulder and shove him back a bit, and he falls to her whims, watching as she purses her lips and observes him sitting back on his knees.

There's a thick, heated moment where they do nothing but look at each other. She's really hot in that outfit - like stupidly, _distractingly_ hot - and while he would really like to do her now, please, absolutely, part of him doesn't want to undress her. She's a work of art, slim hips decorated in dark silk and lace, like something out of a teenage boy's wet dreams.

"It must've taken you a long time to get dressed," he says slowly.

Maka smiles, like a cat, pleased with her bowl of cream. "Mhmmm."

"Do you want me to…?"

She runs her hand down her lap, smoothing her way down her thighs, and he's drawn to the motion like a moth to a flame. "Maybe you could…?"

"Yeah?"

"Just… leave me in this, maybe," she says, slowly, blinking, and he couldn't focus on her face even if he tried. Her legs don't open like the gates of heaven, but that's okay; there's something else being offered to him, something different but still undeniably incredible. "There are other things we can do. If you want."

He does want. So much. The look in her eyes tells him that she does, too, and the bare strip of thigh between panties and stockings is looking more and more like nirvana. He licks his lips without thinking and Maka melts back into her sheets, legs raising, and Soul finds her ankles in his hand in a haze. Before long, he's lining himself up at the crease of her thighs, soft skin that has tantalized him for months, skin he's bitten and licked and worshipped thousands of times suddenly brought into a new light. She may be slight, but her legs go on for days, and the strength in her thighs is second to none.

And how _soft_ they are. And warm. He prods around for a moment, merely appreciating the terrain, the way her skin feels beneath the tip of him.

"Fuuuuck," he groans. "Maka-"

She yields, just barely, just enough for him to slip into the space between her thighs, and Soul very nearly chokes on his tongue. Her grip is encompassing, sweltering, and being pinned anywhere so silky is a treat. He budges his hips, unable to help himself, and watches her smile, so very content, so very pleased with herself. And while part of him is concerned that she'll get less out of this than he will, that he won't be able to get her off while thrusting between her thighs like a caveman, the way she's looking at him has him feeling like maybe she's okay with that.

He kisses the dip of her knee and breathes thickly through his nose. "You, too," he rumbles, hips shifting slowly, _slowly._ "Touch yourself, Maka."

The dip of his voice is unintentional, but it gets the job done, apparently. Maka blushes brighter, glowing pink all the way down to her pale chest, but sure enough, one hand slips down her stomach, fingers slipping beneath the waist of her delicate little panties. The rise of her knuckles beneath the fabric is inspiration enough to thrust again, allowing himself to bask in the overwhelming sensation that is her vice grip; he's been here before, of course, buried between her thighs, but it's always been his face, with her legs lacing around his cheeks like a new pair of earmuffs. Never his cock. Never quite like this.

He might melt. He just might melt before Maka gets herself there.

Keep it _together,_ Soul. Eyes on the prize.

The friction is more than enough to melt his bones and shoot him into the stars. The real challenge is keeping himself from that tipping point long enough for Maka to pull herself over the edge. And boy, is she working at it; Soul peeks down at her, watching the way her hand moves beneath the fabric of her panties, watches the way she bites her lip and her chest heaves with breath as she pants and sighs. He wants to bite her, just a little bit, right there on her neck. He wants to mark her, wants to lick her - wants to trail his tongue between her collarbones and down the line of her sternum, right between her breasts.

Pinks cheek with exertion, Maka gasps, "S-Soon, I just- S-Soul, mm!"

He doesn't need vocal confirmation. He can feel her orgasm like a party popper, bursting, and then she's coming, thighs tighter than ever before as she trembles, lips parted. It's beautiful. It's revolutionary. It's too much, and then he's spilling between her thighs, messily, a sticky mess dripping down and ruining those pretty panties they'd worked so hard to keep her in.

Soul might be more upset if he wasn't still trying to catch his breath. Limply, he reaches over her, grabbing tissues and dabbing them down her legs, chest heaving. Maka spreads her legs and it's obscene how drawn he is to the motion, like she's conditioned him to get aroused just by the mere thought of long legs parting like the red sea. He can't get hard so soon after coming his brains out, though. He needs rest. _Humans_ would need rest.

But then again, _he's_ not very human, is he? He lives to serve, lives to fuck and whatever else Wes has been trying to drill into his brain since the day Soul turned 18. He doesn't even want to glance down and confirm suspicions that his dick has sprung back to life and is (already) eager for round two because goddammit, he hasn't even finished recovering from round one.

True to form, though, he watches Maka tug her undergarments down her long, long, _long_ legs and fuckitall, the engines are revving again. She will quite literally be the death of him.

"Don't worry," she says, sitting up just to grab him and tug him down. With her legs linked around his waist and his dick kissing her damp, heated slit, it's hard to worry about _anything_ except condoms and contraceptives and _demon pregnancies_. "We have a washing machine for a reason."


End file.
